


Broken things, saved lives.

by rayfelle



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:10:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayfelle/pseuds/rayfelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One is a child of a human and a demon, the other a doll made by the hands of man and meant to be a savior. One seeks the doll, craves it with all his soul and the doll simply wished to be freed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken things, saved lives.

**He** is merely a doll; a toy created and built for the entertainment of man whose life held no other meaning than the possibilities of destruction and chaos. The doll is pure, void of the repulsing part that every living being is born with and what makes us humans, the doll is perfect, for it does not see evil, tainted and twisted.

In the dolls eyes there is merely a light that washes past it all, a light that changes and embraces and makes you better, erases some of the black spots decorating ones soul and makes one less of a monster and more a human. The doll is a sacred thing, something close to a God and yet even lower than human, a slave to the nations and a beggar to those that see **him** with hate.

But _he_ craves it.

_He_ craves the doll with all _his_ being and soul and heart and God help, _he_ will make sure that the frail porcelain thing is held in _his_ embrace – secure, guarded and **_his_**.

While _he_ might not like to admit it, for _he_ is always right, always the winner of this twisted game of life and fate and power, _he_ still wishes to be cleansed, to be loved like any other man on this disgusting and tortured earth, a place that now only breeds hate and death and wars that cannot be won.

_He_ wishes to be God, but _he_ is merely a human, a mortal with wings broken and black and unable to fly.

Therefore _he_ seeks out the doll, the pretty little thing that could allow him to feel again. There are reasons more and reasons selfish and dark and simply immoral, but Byakuran has never been a man of honor and follower of the morals built and made by those that lived before _him_ and those that are of _his_ time. _He_ thinks of himself as a savior sometimes, a messiah that is meant to free this world of the chains built by the countless nations and wars and civilizations before.

But no, there is only one messiah for this world – the doll that is hidden and trapped and turned into a slave, rather than a figure of faith and religion and savior.

So Byakuran seeks, _he_ seeks the child and the salvation that would come to _him_ once _he_ finds it, once _he_ holds the doll in _his_ hands, the power of someone not from this world slowly seeping into _his_ being and taking _him_ to heights _he’s_ never known before. It was all that _he_ wanted, all that _he_ dreams about and wishes for to the fallings stars, no matter how childish it may seem.

…

There are stories passed down generations, stories made and stories fake that flow across the lands and settle in the mouths of the humans, igniting the waves of whispers that wash over the hearts of many. Stories of saviors died and evil lords conquered and humiliated even in death, stories of mystical powers that may one day save the life of those that are still walking this dying soil.

**He** knows them all, as they have all passed through **his** ears and mouth, painted **his** small cage with colors of the world that are otherwise forbidden to **his** eyes. Some of them are true, some merely jokes and fakes that come with years tied with boredom and lies, a mere pastime to shorten the depression and death that slowly crawls closer to the weakened and tired human lives.

But **he** doesn’t mind.

**He** is merely a doll, a container that is meant to be born with no feelings and heart, so that those who come to **him** , who seek **his** blessing, may wash in the serenity and calmness radiating from **him**. If there is no heart there is also no blackness and tainted corners, if there are no feelings then **he** does not judge based on them

A perfect apostle, a perfect marionette to rule all and yet be a slave of those that **he** rules.

But **he** was a creation with flaws, a failed thing that had both a heart and emotions that no one desired to see in **him**. But **he** was not tainted; **he** was not like those that had created **him**. The doll was pure, lacking anything that would make **him** a real human and held the air of the vast sky that embraces all and purifies them of all their sins and mistakes. A messiah true and true.

And yet **he** was chained and locked away. A failure is still a failure – **his** father, **his** creator had said so and allowed his disappointment to seep in every word that he made, in every glance directed at his child, his creating, the savior that he had hoped to receive.

Still, Tsunayoshi felt no anger, no pain for what had been done to **him**. There were no tears that begged to be shed, no smiles that would softly tug at the corners of his lips, no emotions that would allow the doll to show **his** human side, even just a little, so that **his** imprisonment would be justified.

But there was nothing.

Just the quiet around the doll and the stories created and retold.

**He** was a doll, a messiah that had fallen before even rising, a child created for the sake of the future, and yet the future had destroyed **him** and made **him** into a thief, an imposter that would never see the blue of the sky or the green of the grass. A failure, a letdown, a liar – as the stories told and whispered along the bricks of the basement **he** was kept in.

But Tsunayoshi knows, knows from the dreams evading **his** sleep and the soft caresses of the draft against **his** skin, which does not feel, that a monster was coming, coming slowly closer. A monster that wishes to destroy and conquer and pull the world into chaos was coming for **him** , to both free **him** and chain **him** down again.

And yet again there was no fear in **his** little body, only hope that the sky will be allowed for **his** eyes again, that the feel of grass under **his** feet would be given to **him** for one last time before **his** time on this earth is counted and the hourglass has run out of sands of **his** life. It wasn’t a bad way to go, it was a death welcomed and awaited, after all.

…

_He_ can’t believe what _he_ sees – a child so frail and weak that one might think **he** would turn to dust once exposed to the blazing sun of the outside world. Starved and forgotten, locked up and killed slowly, a messiah and savior robbed of **his** right and calling. But, still beautiful, still pure and only seeing the good of this wretched world.

“I came here for you.” _He_ says simply, pale hands reaching towards the doll and a grin of insanity stretched across _his_ lips and a glint of madness in _his_ eyes. There is something about the doll that pulls _him_ closer, that makes _his_ world seem less insane and more at peace – a world that _he_ had once dreamed to create and own.

The doll doesn’t say anything, nor does **he** move from where **he** is sat, chains winding around **his** body like snakes searching for the warmth of their victim. An expression of apology and sadness, something that didn’t go along with the brown eyes in the color of melted fire and chocolate that seem to radiate understanding and _hope_ for something that might, one day, come true, morphs the doll’s face and **he** speaks, voice soft and quiet and unused, “I know. But I cannot move.”

Acceptance of **his** fate as a broken thing, thrown away and forgotten was the first thing that Byakuran just **_knows_** he will need to fix. There is no way that something belonging to _him_ will think so lowly of himself. Then again, this was the messiah of the new world, a tool, if one were to say, that saw the future as simply as a normal human saw the sky above his head and grass under his feet. There was life and death of countless beings that those eyes had surely seen while living in this darkness, waiting for a knight to come and free **him** – the treasure and curse of these lands.

Byakuran was that knight, _he_ was sure of it. A knight that would one day rule the world under _his_ law, surely. “That is not a problem, my dear. Chains are simply that – chains. With a flick of a blade, a snap of fingers they will surely crumple and turn to ash, just like the stone of these walls that keep you hidden.” _He_ held false hope in _his_ voice, even though the love for what _he_ was doing was real and genuine and even that of a child.

“They will, yes.” The doll speaks again, thin fingers tracing the cold metal loops. “You will be a king both loved and feared; therefore even these chains cannot stop you. But, hear my words and be aware, I am not what you seek. I am not what you need, child of both human and demon. I am but a doll, a fake savior that will burn once met the light of the scorching day.”

“I fear, that I will not let you burn, my dear. I keep what belongs to me safe and guarded, away from others and gently in my arms.” _He_ takes the sword hanging from _his_ hip, the coldness of the holy blade against _his_ fingers foreign and burning but oh so pleasing. _He_ would later, years into the future that the child had told _him_ would happen and could not be escaped, remember those words and regret _his_ decision to cut away the only thing that could keep Tsunayoshi to this earth.

…

“Blessed be the light.” **He** whispers into the wind and allows the sound of the world once robbed from **him** wash over, **his** senses rising once again and clearing away the dust from years spent clothed in chains and imaginary duty to perform. “Bless the child that has seen your might.”

“There is no God.” The man behind **him** declares and Tsunayoshi knows, feels more, that there was pain under those words, pain of being forgotten and ignored and no longer treated as someone who had worth for this word.

**He** turns around, eyes soft and smile calming, “I thank the sun, not the God. God is merely a figure, an eternal existence that gives piece to those that seek it through others, not themselves. Had God cared, there would be no need to thank him, no need to look for him.” **he** curls his toes, the tickling feeling of grass under **his** feet a feeling capable of saving **his** tired soul and so much more.

With a small sigh **he** raises **his** hands up, as if to touch the sky above **his** head and then closes **his** eyes, the burn of the sun against **his** skin reminds **him** just how much time **he** had left on this world, just how much longer **he** is now allowed to live before fate takes **him** away and to a place better than where **he** is now.

“God or no God, my eyes only see you, my dear. My senses only feel you, for you are what I live for, what I long for and what I need.” _He_ walks up to the doll and wraps _his_ hands around the frail frame of the child and picks him up. “If you die then I will die with you.”

**He** reaches out and cups the other’s face with **his** small hands, the memories of long ago, the pain of so long and the love for this world and **him** , twisted with time and changed by the insensitivity and cruelty of others, seeping into **his** being, overwhelming and beautiful in a dark and cursed and mesmerizing way.  To leave a soul like this alone, to bring more pain on a soul suffered meaninglessly was something that Tsunayoshi did not want to do.

But there was no choice. **His** fate had been decided long ago. **He** had decided to let this man, this man of a demon to be the one to receive **his** power, **his** blessing and **his** silent apology for being unable to help and love and free.

“You cannot. You cannot end your life for a savior that failed to save, you cannot abandon this life for me, a messiah that was turned into a slave and a tool used to lie and deceive and cause madness to spread.” **His** nonexistent heart clenching and tearing in half, the sadness **he** should not know how to feel flooding **his** broken body. “Live on, if only because I wish to be selfish, just this once.”

Expression of emptiness is on _his_ face, a hollow heart now in _his_ chest, but Byakuran manages a smile, just to appease the victim of death and unfairness in _his_ arms. “To think that I would lose what I’ve always wanted and craved so soon… Truly, this world is a place that should be burned to ashes and then more.”

…

_He_ stands knee deep into the river, holding the slowly fading life in _his_ arms as if it were a child born minutes before and _he_ were a mother, guarding her flesh and blood with every part of her body. _His_ hold is gentle, unlike _he_ usually is, careful not to be too strong or too loose and holds the doll close to _his_ body, above the water and away from the blazing white of the sun.

**He** lies in that hold, eyes closed and breath coming out in short puffs, pain void from **his** face and evident in the desperate way **his** frail hand clutches to Byakuran’s garments, as if afraid to let go and be lost forever. The cold breath of death is breathing down **his** neck, skeleton fingers already scratching long, red lines on **his** pale skin - marking, waiting, _cursing_ the thing to hell and back for not coming to him sooner.

“I don’t want to let you go.” _He_ states, long fingers tightening their hold on the figure slowly turning to dust. “Can’t I change my soul for you? Share it with you; I have enough for both of us and no respect for rules of both the humans and Gods.” _His_ voice lacks the twisted mirth it once had. Understandable, there is death in _his_ arms and a crack in _his_ heart.

Tsunayoshi laughs – in the face of death and to relieve his demon, his savior. “My heart will live in you, my power will be yours, my heart will continue to beat through you. Do not cry, for I have already told you the future, given you the blessing to live.” **He** opens **his** eyes, dull and weak and still promising redemption for all and himself, as well. “Shape this world how you wish. Rule it, burn it, conquer it, grow it.”

There is quiet between them, the water whispers silent words of comfort and hope that the sun burns away. **He** is already falling, dust that was once **his** flesh scattering into the wind and the life that was once **his** slipping out of **his** fingertips. But **he** doesn’t cry, doesn’t worry and doesn’t curse and damn the fates and the reaper. **He** rejoices in the death that has finally come, smiles for the hope that _he_ will continue the job that Tsunayoshi failed to do.

“I love you, demon that saved this broken thing. Byakuran, I love you.” **He** breathes; pale fingertips reach out to touch the air between them, as if that would be enough. There was no need to reach _his_ face, **he** already knew that warmth of the one holding him as well as **his** own – an addiction of sorts.

Laugh so familiar now and so soothing flutters in the air as a broken butterfly, carrying the love that would die together with the doll. “I love you too, savior of my life, Tsunayoshi. I would destroy the world for you, how much I love you.”

And then they become one, breaths mixing and fingers clutching to the other so tightly it hurts. But there is no time anymore, the hourglass is already broken and lost, the sand now scattered on the ground and seeped into the soil. Byakuran opens _his_ eyes, _his_ lips covered in dust and hands now holding sand, so fragile and refined that they remind of diamonds.

The sand was Tsunayoshi, the hourglass was Byakuran. A life saved and a life broken, the victims of fate and the saviors of the world


End file.
